Another fun thing about aging has reared its ugly head. I have increasingly become short of breath. My nurses check my oxygen levels at each visit, and the numbers have been less than spectacular. One of the nurses explained to me that I should be on oxygen and in order to do that, a visit to my doctor was required. I declined, using the excuse that we are up to our collective bums in snow and I would wait for warmer weather to venture out. I can not wear shoes due to swelling, and sock feet and snow drifts are not compatible. She smiled, nodded and put in a call to my daughter, who is listed as next of kin on the paperwork.
Jill called her sister and younger brother, who made an appointment for me with my doctor. The person they didn't call was me. I guess they knew I would have some serious objections. They did call, however, when they were enroute to my house to take me to said appointment.
I blew a gasket. Said I wasn't going anywhere. Said I didn't appreciate them going behind my back to make an appointment for me that I had no intention of keeping. Said a bunch more stuff I probably shouldn't have said.
Here's the thing. We of a certain age come to the realization that we have reached a time in life where we know we will not live forever. And we don't like it. Our bodies betray us. Sometimes our minds betray us as well. Some of us just give up and meekly allow others to run our lives while we wait to die. Others of us fight tooth and nail to maintain some sort of independence even when things become increasingly difficult. And we resent the hell out of anyone trying to tell us what to do.
By the time my son and daughter reached my apartment, I had somewhat calmed down. I yelled at them a little bit more, grabbed my coat and went with them to keep the dreaded appointment with the doctor.
Blood was drawn, tests were taken as was a chest X-ray. Everything came out OK except for the oxygen levels. The oxygen equipment will be delivered sometime today.
As angry as I was with my kids, I am still eternally grateful that they love me enough to risk Mom's wrath. I acknowledge the fact that I can be a royal pain in the patoot. And even with that being said, my kids go to great lengths to try to keep me above ground and in their lives.
God love them. I know I sure do.
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